


Interlude

by Lacinia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:59:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacinia/pseuds/Lacinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha, Steve, and a night nobody dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

“All I’m saying is,” Natasha says, taking an enormous bite of doughnut and speaking through it, “if she hadn’t wanted you to come, she wouldn’t have invited you.”

Steve looks down dubiously at his own confection: crème brûlée flavor with a caramel filling.  The all-night shop she’d directed them to was, predictably, glorious--they’d fry the things right in front of you if you didn’t want them iced.  But there is something off-putting about their sheer exuberance.  

Not that it bothers Natasha--off mission, she eats like a hyperactive five year old, all milkshakes and waffles and staggering towers of fries.  

“She was just being polite,” Steve says.

“Hill isn’t polite,” Natasha says frankly.  “She has the tactical mind of Napoleon and a higher security clearance than both of us combined, but she is not polite.”

Steve frowns minutely--an old woman pursing of the lips that Natasha hasn’t yet warned him is adorable.  But his voice is mild when he reproaches her, “She has a first name.”

“If the commander wanted me to use her first name I’d be doing it.  From you, I think she doesn’t mind.”

For that, Steve doesn’t have an answer, so he just takes a bite of his doughnut.  Granules of sugar  crunch between his teeth.  

  
  


Natasha cuts through campus on the way back.  It’s not exactly on the way, but as she explains to Steve, it’s a rare tail that can blend in with a bunch of college students.  She’s constantly tossing little bits of advice his way, always offhand, always valuable.  Sometimes it’s spycraft, sometimes it’s directions, sometimes gossip.  Tony calls her an enigma and Clint says she’s got secrets, but she’s always sharing with him, and he still doesn’t understand why.  

The trees and buildings filter some, but not all of the traffic noise away.  It’s dark, relative to the street, although lamps shine brightly every fifty feet.  There’s enough chill in the air that he can just see his breath, and it’s oddly cozy to walk side-by-side with SHIELD’s number one field agent, no danger in sight.  Despite her earlier words, she looks relaxed.  

Lights spill around the path’s bend as they approach the plaza.  He can hear voices and laughter, but, consumed by other thoughts, doesn’t pay them much attention until he’s close enough to recognize the song.  The speakers are cheap and turned away from him, but the music still sets a hook under his heart.

Natasha looks up at him, and wordlessly they move to the edge of the open space, watching the dancers move to the kind of music that lights up Steve’s dreams, and for Natasha exists in dusty archives and old movies.

They’re mostly women, dancing with each other like during the war.  But the similarities end there: they’re dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, showing tattoos and facial piercings.  In the beat between a lift and the start of the next movement, one woman leans forward to kiss her partner.

“You really did this?” Natasha asks, watching them twirl.  

“Not me,” Steve says, but the big brass music echoes in his eardrums like a heartbeat.

Natasha gets a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Oh no,” he says.  

“It doesn’t look that hard,” she says.

With perfect coordination, the girls simultaneously spin into their partners’ arms and into a deep dip.  The music ends with a clash of cymbals, and the handful of watchers let out a burst of applause.

“Is it the same?” Natasha asks.

“A little more showy.  Not everyone was this good.”

“Well, I know for a fact you can throw me pretty high.  Care to give them a run for their money?”

He gives her a look.  “You planned this, didn’t you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  How could I possibly know the Basic Pitches were gonna steal their regular practice space?  How could I possibly know that, Rogers?”  She looks up at him, smirking.  “I watched a tutorial on YouTube.”

“I didn’t!” Steve protests, but lets her pull him towards the group.

They stand face to face and wait for the music to start.  He’s suddenly uncomfortable with his height in a way he hasn’t been in years.  She tries very hard to hide it, but she’s tiny: at least ten inches shorter than him.  This close there’s no avoiding it.  He fights to avoid shifting or making any nervous motion she’ll notice.  Instead, he keeps his face blank and his tone mild, saying, “You know, when you say my name like that, it makes me feel like I’m back in the Army.”

Natasha drops her jaw, covering her mouth with one manicured hand.  “Mister, you were in the Army?  You should’a told me, a local girl likes to show her appreciation.”

Steve can’t help but laugh at the look on her face, and he’s saved from having to answer by the music starting.  

She’s right, of course.  Though he stumbles at first, struggling to follow her lead, it doesn’t take him long to catch the rhythm of it.  It’s like fighting, in a way, and he and Natasha have done that often enough that they’re quick to follow each others’ cues.  By the time they’ve danced through a few songs they’re attempting fancy lifts and flips like judo throws.

The students are sneaking Steve suspicious glances from the first, and by the end of practice they’re crowded by kids asking him for everything between autographs and 1940s makeup tips.  Natasha slinks to the edge of the knot.  By the time Steve’s able to extricate himself, she’s packing up the lights like she belongs there.

“You made the cover of _Time_ once,” he reminds her.  

Her smile is faint, almost wistful.  “It’s all about how you carry yourself,” she says.

Steve picks up his folded jacket from the ground.  “We’re not going to be able to come back, are we?”

She glances at him, expression opaque.  “It’s not a good idea,” she says.

He nods, still not looking at her.  “It was nice,” he admits.  

On the way back, they don’t talk for a long while.  

 


End file.
